Puppy
by generalsleepy
Summary: Kiba/Hanabi. Hanabi is stronger than she looks.


Sweat rolled over pale skin, stuck to black mesh, turned flat dark hair into a wet, matted sheet. Compact, boyish muscle's rolled back and forth with the steady forward motion of the small fist, slamming forward through the air with bone-cracking force, as if all the energy and power of the miniscule body was channeled through that one arm, into those delicate fingers

Kiba stared at the scene, transfixed by the almost hypnotic motion of Hanabi going through her exercises. Of course, he had to pretend not to stare, so he kept the smirk in place, continued to stroke his twisted ankle, as Hanabi went on with the exercises that they had been practicing together, when a twisted ankle put him temporarily out of commission.

With his free hand, he was patting and scratching Akamaru's head. The dog rested by his side, panting too after a long run.

He was a bit disappointed when Hanabi finished with a particularly fierce punch (punctuated by a high, girlish "ah!" that utterly failed to terrify), and then leaned over, hands on thighs, breathing heavily, face entirely hidden by the black sheet.

"You're almost as good as your sister," he said conversationally.

"I'm better than my sister," she deadpanned.

"Um… okay," Kiba said, as Hanabi walked over to the bench where he sat. "We'll go with that then."

"Mm." She picked up a towel and wiped some of the moisture from her face, then straightened and began rubbing at her bare, shiny arms.

"You are good, though," he continued. "Seriously, we're just glad that you can come in and save our butts when your sister is off doing… whatever it is she does." He shrugged. "Anyway, I remember when you were first starting out. Back then you were just adorable and mildly troubling. Now you're gorgeous and outright terrifying."

She looked at him for a moment with those large blank eyes that could look unemotional, but seemed to him wonderfully placid. "…Just mildly troubling?" she said.

Kiba wondered for a moment, whether she was joking, decided that she was, and curled his lip in a half-smile.

Then, he thought for another moment, and changed his mind. The smile disappeared.

He briefly considered the matter again, before deciding to put it away in concern for his sanity.

The bottom line was that he had one scary-ass girlfriend, and he was proud of it.

"Why are you just looking at me like that?"

"I'm so madly in love with you, that I've lost all sense of reality," he enthused, flashing her a moony grin.

Her eyebrow twitched, and she went back to cleaning herself.

"There's nothing to do here, anyway," she continued listlessly. "All we're doing is training. I might as well have stayed with my own team."

"Maybe, I just wanted to hang out with you," Kiba challenged jokingly.

"So that you could immediately injure yourself." She stated it dispassionately, as a mere fact. That was a particular talent of hers, to imply the insult by bald statement of reality. At least, it was one of Kiba's favorites.

"Like I said," he began. "Love distracted me, so I had to twist my ankle. For you."

"I seem to remember there being a cartwheel involved."

"Yeah, maybe. A cartwheel, for you."

"Mm. Well, thank you, I suppose."

He smiled deviously up at her. "Will you kiss it and make it better?"

She cocked her head thoughtfully. "No." Tugged a bit of hair behind her ear. "I could break it for you." Again, no spite or sassiness, just a statement of fact.

Kiba swallowed. "Doesn't hurt that bad."

"Hm." She put down the damp towel and slumped onto the bench beside him. "It's getting late."

"How do you know?"

"I can keep track of time. Most people can. It's a pretty basic skill. I think you learn it in primary school."

"Okay, okay." He shook his head. "Man, you're mean."

Her face was unreadable, so Kiba didn't try too hard to read it. He stretched and groaned exaggeratedly. "So, y'wanna turn in? As long as I'm crippled and you're too tired to go on?"

"I'm not too tired."

"Yes you are."

She did the scary look again. Kiba's ankle twinged in anticipatory pain.

"Sure," she said finally, and sprang to her feet gracefully.

Kiba had to pause for a moment to figure out how he would haul himself up, without putting too much pressure on his bad ankle, and also not ilooking/i like there was anything wrong. He was still struggling with this conundrum, when the girl suddenly leaned over and held out a hand to him.

"Need help?" she asked shortly.

"Nah." Kiba placed his hand on the bench and pushed himself up. The ankle protested, but he made himself walk on it gingerly. Hanabi seemed unconcerned, as if she couldn't care more or less whether he placed himself in horrible agony just to show off his masculinity.

Akamaru followed behind them, seemingly sensing Kiba's preoccupation and thusly keeping himself off to the side.

Hanabi was in one of her frequent (constant, really) silent moods. Kiba didn't let it concern him. He hobbled along towards his bedroom in what he decided to consider an amiable silence. He judged the likelihood of surviving placing his hand around her waist and surviving without grievous dismemberment. After calculating it to be in the single digits, he decided to settle for just smiling cheerfully down at her.

As he moved forward to open the door, he stepped awkwardly on the twisted ankle, and his whole leg decided to solve that problem by giving out under him. Flinging out his arms with a very manly cry of surprise, he barely managed to catch himself against a wall, shaking on his one good leg.

He looked up at a supremely unimpressed Hanabi. He chanced a smile up at her. "Ow," he said.

Her eyebrow rose. "You're an idiot," she stated, and then, before Kiba could protest, the miniscule girl slid under his shoulder and hefted him up. Kiba remembered her punching earlier, and decided that he shouldn't be so surprised by her deceptive strength.

Hanabi opened the door with her foot and then lugged him inside the door. Kiba did his best to pull himself, but she made that almost unnecessary. She dumped him gracelessly onto the bed, mattress heaped with blankets, quilts, and pillows of every size and shape.

He fell into the pile with a muffled "Oof!" Akamaru jumped up immediately and curled up by his head, in the well-marked depression where he usually slept.

Meanwhile, Hanabi silently pulled off her shoes and pants.

"Whoo," he said, leaning back into the bed. "That was a tough day." He patted the bed. "Come on, Puppy."

"I've requested you not call me that," she said lightly.

"Aw, why not?"

"I'm not a dog." She sat down on the edge of the bed.

"You're as cute as one."

"You're a very odd man."

"You love it."

"Hm." She had her back to him, her shoulders still moving with deep, panting breaths.

"You look tired," he said unnecessarily, inching his arm forward and wrapping it around her waist.

"I'm fine," she said.

"Come on." He pulled her down onto the bed and curled around her, pressing a kiss to her sweaty, heated ear. She was stiff for a moment, and then relaxed. He continued, "You're a great ninja."

"I am," she said, but her voice wasn't as hard as before. She rolled over onto her side, as she did when she was going to sleep. She slept with her legs curled against her stomach, and her tiny fists near her mouth, entirely unfitting with her hard, serious exterior.

"You're also my girlfriend. And you're adorable."

"I'm not—" she began curmudgeonly, but broke off as Kiba pressed a wet, slobbery kiss to her cheek.

"Good night, Puppy," he mumbled tiredly against her cheek.

She paused a moment, then murmured back "Good night, Kiba."

Akamaru gave a satisfied harrumph, and Kiba drifted off, smiling, his chin resting on Hanabi's small, powerful shoulder.


End file.
